


Stepping Into Life Before the Paint Dries

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Italy Unpacked (TV) RPF
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Longing, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-21 09:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21296909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: Giorgio finds himself watching on as the art historian studies the gallery's artworks. He's falling for Andrew and a whole host of emotions are running through his mind, especially as they touch upon the notion of Futurist art and all of its connotations.Could admiring such a piece from afar ever be enough? Would admiring Andrew from afar ever be enough for Giorgio? Or would they have to be brave and accept the future which lied ahead of them?
Relationships: Andrew Graham-Dixon/Giorgio Locatelli
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Stepping Into Life Before the Paint Dries

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

Andrew's eyes would _change _when they fell upon a piece of art they particularly admired, Giorgio had noticed; they would widen, and they would marvel, and his mouth would be slightly agape as he silently examined the piece, eyes roaming wildly over the canvas as he noticed something new and thrilling each and every time he looked at it. The older man often reached out to the pictures on the wall, wanting to touch but not daring to. Giorgio had found now that he spent more time watching Andrew look at the paintings than he would actually spend looking at the paintings himself. He realised this fact about himself around a week ago - much around the same time he noticed himself beginning to _fall _for Andrew.

How had this happened? Giorgio had to ask himself. He'd never really been all that interested in art, but Andrew was _more_ than interested enough for the _both_ of them and, somehow, this had been instrumental in his feelings for the art historian and how they were suddenly developing, tumbling through his gut and churning in his stomach for days now. He remembered Sicily: he remembered seriousness and Mafia; he remembered the colours of the market, replicated in the gorgeous caponata they created together; he remembered hot and sticky nights of drunkenness and silliness - of him plying his new friend with too much Sicilian red wine and trying to bring him down to his level of immaturity, and succeeding - convincing him to sing loudly with him as they staggered through the streets, much to the annoyance of the local youngsters.

He'd seen Andrew's mischievous side, offsetting his obvious poshness and intelligence, and it had charmed him; he was enjoying getting to know Graham-Dixon and his many facets, and how rebellious he could be whilst, at the same time, not looking as though butter would melt in his mouth. And, learning how Andrew's favourite artist was the troubled genius that was Caravaggio, the two sides of this man he had grown to love only became more apparent. Locatelli now understood how a painting by such an artist could have moved his companion to tears. At first, he didn't really get how something flat and two dimensional - with no sound or scent to stimulate the senses - could make somebody actually cry. But, when Giorgio was given the chance to drive the Ferrari, earlier in this trip, he _too_ cried when it was over - from the experience, from the _rush_.

Art was Andrew's rush and _what_ a rush it was to him. It was his passion, and now Giorgio was feeling that passion too - feeling it for both Andrew's love of art and simply for _Andrew_.

They were in a gallery, in Milan, perusing the Futurist paintings which Andrew had been so keen to show to Giorgio. And the crew were taking an extended lunch, probably slightly bored of Andrew's arty waffle now - as if Giorgio ever could be. Well - maybe it depended on what mood he was in, he thought, with a giggle - he didn't exactly have the longest attention span for such intellectual things - but, right now, he was in a loving mood - a loving mood for Andrew - and every word coming out of his mouth sounded like birdsong, or the Stradivarius violin played for them in Lombardy - music to Giorgio's ears. Even the excitement of scaling the roof of Milan Cathedral and the magnificent view down below did not fill the Italian with such a sense of wonder as seeing Andrew enthralled in what he loved doing the _most_.

Andrew was particularly taken with a Toulouse-Lautrec style painting of a can-can girl, but from an Italian artist. "He's interested in this idea that... we are inhabitants of the machine age. And when he looks at the chorus line, it's as if he sees a group of people who've turned themselves into a kind-of animated piston engine. Their legs kicking. It's almost like people becoming the inside of a motor car," he told Giorgio with such enthusiasm. "They were setting themselves quite a difficult task, which is to capture - in a still frame - a sense of movement." As if Andrew had any trouble capturing movement, thought Giorgio with some humour, as he watched the older man flailing his arms around as he spoke, with enough gusto to knock the paintings off of the walls. They'd reached the gallery by little yellow tram, though Andrew had so much energy when it came to the prospect of looking at art, he no doubt could have ran there in half of the time.

"The Futurist manifesto - it's a guide to enjoying modern life. Everything that an Italian perhaps might, at the beginning of the 20th Century find disconcerting - the rapid movement of a tram, a crowded street, the sudden sense that everything's moving - it's confusing," Andrew explained, eyes still trained on the piece, "It's riding that finest of lines between being something designed to _scare_ and something designed to _excite_. And you can never be quite sure which it is."

The thing too that Giorgio had discovered about art, and Andrew's relationship with art - was how it put a safety barrier between the grey-haired man and his many creative obsessions - that, in real life, rogues like Caravaggio would be the last people to enter Andrew's radar - but, through art, he could observe him and all of his thoughts and feelings from a thoroughly safe distance. A particularly strong piece would allow the viewer to connect with all of the emotions the artist was feeling, but through a canvas and not through real actions. However, could any one artwork truly ever be good enough to match the feelings felt through reality? As he studied Andrew - a man who looked at the paintings with such longing that he seemed to _dream _of a way to delve into the oil paint and swim in the gouache - Giorgio wondered if today might just be the day to break through Andrew's walls.

Could admiring such a piece from afar _ever_ be enough? Would admiring Andrew from afar ever be enough for Giorgio? Or would they have to be _brave_ and accept the future which lied ahead of them?

"Are you listening to me, Giorgio?" Andrew laughed, watching the other man's expression glaze over.

"I... think... samtimes, Andrew - that you are _also _ a little scared," he made a statement rather profound, "And that - as much as you'a love all of this - samtimes it is not enough simply to talk about the emotions behind dese paintings - and you truly need to _feel_ dese things once in a while." Giorgio slowly approached Andrew, his arms open towards him, and the art-historian froze in mid-scene, as if he - himself - was a still-life painting. And then - _movement_. Giorgio swooped in and gathered him in his arms, leaning forward and planting the most passionate - but also, somehow - quite reserved of kisses upon his lips.

Andrew's gobsmacked expression, however, started to bloom into a smile. The kiss literally took his breath away; he didn't know what to say - but Giorgio did: "I don't want you to just look at me like a piece of your art. I want you'a to _ 'ave _ me, and do not be afraid to get your 'ands wet from the paint," there was a small chuckle. "I'll be browsing the gift shop if you need me," he began to walk away, leaving his fellow presenter dazed.

"Wait," came a protest, and Locatelli looked over his shoulder with a cheeky grin on his face. "Where do you think you're going?" Graham-Dixon asked him, smirking. "What makes you think I wouldn't want to come with you, eh? Maybe I love gift shops. Maybe I love a fridge magnet with the Duomo on as much as the next person," he laughed heartily; Giorgio outstretched his hand to him and he took a hold of it, with great relish, as they made a bid for the stairs.

"Andrew?" Giorgio queried, pressing a kiss to his cheek as they dashed down the steps. "What the hell are you talking about, man?" he snorted, "We both know 'ow you feel about the gift shops."


End file.
